


Tokyo Boy

by Verbrennung



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternative Title: Hotline Bling, Anal Fingering, Friends with Benefits(?), Iwaizumi and Oikawa are ""JUST CASUAL"", Iwaizumi lives in LA but regularly travels for work, M/M, Matsuhana are the best, Oikawa is a lil needy, Oikawa is precious, There's smut, he catches feelings, what does Iwa-chan think about all this??, when he's in tokyo he and Oikawa hook up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-11-04 04:56:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10983822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verbrennung/pseuds/Verbrennung
Summary: “Ohno, Tooru-” but thankfully Makki doesn’t say anything other than that. They reach for their drinks in sync, and Tooru tips his glass to his oncoming emotional apocalypse in one last sardonic acknowledgement of his terrible life before they both take a long pull of their drinks because ohyes, he’s fucked. He has feelings for Iwaizumi Hajime, who probably has casual lovers just like him in every major city he visits on business. Oikawa is just his Tokyo Boy, just another pit-stop on Iwaizumi’s travels.~A story about longing, and how not even 5,487 miles, a sixteen-hour time difference, or a 'casual' label can stop a stubborn heart (or two?) from falling in love.





	1. I Wanna Be Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaah this is finally finished!! Tokyo Boy has been in the works for a long time and now it's finally time to release it out into the world! I've spent a long time working on the same few fanfics simultaneously, so it's nice to be finally be at the point where I can start posting them! This HC was born from my own experience in relationships: cultural differences, dealing with distance, catching feelings - and my apparent need to apply everything to Iwaoi.
> 
> Thank you to the usual suspects, the Iwasexuals, for listening to me whining about writing, reading excerpts and giving feedback, and just being so supportive and encouraging of me (and each other). You're amazing friends ily. Thank you also to everyone who has read, kudos'd, commented on and bookmarked my other fics! Every single one of you makes the whole arduous process worthwhile. Please enjoy this latest offering!
> 
>  **Edit:** This fic is a repost! I'm sorry to people who commented and bookmarked it the first time, but I realised that apparently AO3 makes the date of your first _draft_ the work's publish date, not the date you actually post the final version? I originally 'posted' this fic 23rd May but because my draft was 20th May, when I finally published it, it was already _waaay_ back in the tag, which really reduced the chances of it being seen by you guys. Stupid feature imo, but eh. Sorry again guys!

_secrets i have held in my heart_  
_are harder to hide than i thought_  
_maybe i just wanna be yours_  
_i wanna be yours, i wanna be yours_  
[[X]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fJLQCf4mFP0)  
  


>> _I’ll be in town the end of next month. Got company tours and meetings scheduled but I can free up some time if you’re available._

Oikawa’s heart soars, long fingers tightening their grip on his phone even as he tries to reign himself in.

“Who’s messaging you during such important family time?” Matsukawa asks from the other side of the booth, and Oikawa looks up from the screen to find not one but two pairs of eyes trained on him. Schooling his expression into a shit-eating grin he shrugs, waving his phone emphatically through the air in a gesture befitting of his usual flair. “Someone gracious enough to spare me from your disgusting PDA” he chirps, rolling his eyes at Matsukawa’s half-assed parody of a shocked gasp and choosing to ignore the pale hand Hanamaki sweeps down Matsukawa’s chest suggestively in response to the criticism. They’re in a family restaurant in the middle of the day, don’t they have morals? Makki’s eyes turn even more sly than their default, and Oikawa braces himself. Why should he ever have expected someone with _pink hair_ to have any sense of public decorum? 

Said man only smirks, chin resting on Mattsun’s broad shoulder as he mock-whispers to him. “Can’t you tell? His eyelashes did that fluttery thing when he read it - _and_ his shoulders hunched up. Only one person gets him so excited~” his gaze slices right through Oikawa, who’s starting to feel a little attacked already. “Mr. Jetsetter just made a booty call, didn’t he?”

Oikawa doesn’t need to move his eyes away from Makki’s sly ‘gotcha!’ grin to know that a tiny frown has coloured Mattsun’s usually blank expression. His stomach sinks at the words ‘booty call’ (not because they aren’t true, but because they _are_ and they make it sound so bad). He draws the phone clutched in his hands closer to his body, the screen gone black in his distraction. Makki keeps going despite the clear dip in Oikawa’s mood: “Your exotic American boytoy, yeah?”

His friend doesn’t mean anything by it besides innocent teasing, but the excitement that had bloomed in Oikawa’s chest just a minute ago has already begun to fizzle thanks to Hanamaki’s poor choice of words. Even though he rises to the bait as usual, it lacks the usual whiny insistence Makki is probably used to hearing when they go down this vein: “he’s Japanese, he just moved to America when he was a kid. Hardly exotic” he mumbles, eyes darting to the side just as a young waitress comes to collect their plates, providing an excellent buffer for a moment. It’s not Makki’s fault he’s suddenly so put out - they’ve done this routine a few times before and Oikawa has never really had a problem with his… situation being described in such a way - until now. 

Now, Oikawa remembers the last time Iwaizumi (apparently ‘Mr. Jetsetter’ to Makki today) had come to Tokyo for business. He remembers staring at Iwaizumi’s broad, bare shoulders while he slept in the hotel bed, form illuminated by the neon signs outside the window. For the first time Oikawa had found himself totally unable to force down the wish that the other didn’t have to go back home to the other side of the world; so far away that they could never see each other on a whim just because they felt like it. If Iwaizumi lived here in Tokyo, Oikawa would have already taken a risk and asked Iwaizumi to date him for real. He’d do what he always does with guys he likes - bombard him with texts and demand they go to this cafe he found, or attend this event or exhibition he’d read about on the internet. The very real distance between them prevented that and so much more. A knot had formed in the pit of his stomach that night, and it only seems to get tighter each time he thinks about it. It’s his fault, and he _will_ get over it. He tells himself he would have gotten bored of Iwaizumi had he been so accessible, just like with all the others. It’s just wanting what he can’t have, like he’s prone to do.

He plasters on a smile just as the silent concern radiating from Mattsun reaches its peak, but that doesn’t deter his best friend. “We still haven’t met him yet” he points out, and whilst it sounds casual, Oikawa knows it’s anything but. He and Makki have probably discussed the “American toyboy” situation between themselves; his two best friends can be protective. It’s clear to see that Mattsun doesn’t like not knowing anything about the guy Oikawa will drop any and all plans for - besides his name (which Oikawa made him promise not to tell Makki, who can probably find a man on social media based just on his ring size nevermind his name) and the fact that he’s (for all intents and purposes) an American who comes over to Tokyo several times a year to liaise with the Tokyo branch of the company he works for.

If he were to be honest, Oikawa doesn’t actually know many more personal details himself, and he’d gotten all that information the first time he’d met him in a gay bar in Shinjuku. They talk about plenty of things when they’re together, and text when they’re apart, of course - but nothing that could really be considered important or deeply personal information. Oikawa can identify all the different ways Iwaizumi furrows his brow - when he doesn’t understand what’s being said in a conversation, when he’s annoyed, when he’s grumpy, when he’s tired. He knows Iwaizumi loves to eat agedashi tofu whenever he’s in Japan, but likes burgers and mexican food almost as much. He knows which brand of beer he likes and the make of his favourite watch. He knows Iwaizumi likes kaiju movies and old school anime and got a red leather jacket just like Kaneda’s from Akira when he was thirteen.

He _doesn’t_ know Iwaizumi’s biggest hopes or his darkest fears. He doesn’t know what his parents look like, or whether he’s close with them or not. He doesn’t know who Iwaizumi’s best friends are, or how well he gets along with his co-workers back home. Oikawa doesn’t know if Iwaizumi wants to continue to travel to and fro for his job for the foreseeable future, or if he wants to settle down and work in one place. Oikawa knows a lot of things about Iwaizumi, but it’s the information he’s not privy to that really matters, that keeps him awake at night, wondering but too afraid to ask for fear of coming on ‘too strong’.

Oikawa zaps out of his musings and back into present, hackles raising. “And why would you need to?” he asks with a smile sharp as a dagger, a clear warning for them to drop the subject. “It’s not like it’s anything serious. We just hang out sometimes when he’s in Tokyo.” Mood well and truly soured, and with no one to blame but himself for it, Oikawa decides this is enough ‘family bonding time’ for this week, slapping some bills down onto the tabletop since it’s his turn to pay for their lunch. He chooses to ignore Makki’s mumbled addition of ‘and text _all the time_ ’ and slides out of the booth, nose turned up at the disgustingly happy and drama-free couple opposite him. They’re so happy with each other it’s obscene. “I have to get back to work,” he announces, even if everyone present knows that’s not strictly true, because Oikawa always takes a long lunch break on Tuesdays for these catch-ups, and certainly not the reason he’s leaving. “Have a nice life.”

He responds to Iwaizumi’s text once he steps out of the building, only cursing his lack of self-preservation once it’s successfully sent and he’s once again waiting for a reply. (He’s always waiting, at the mercy of a sixteen hour time difference and a debilitating need to talk to Iwaizumi _always_ ).

~~~~~~~~

There are plenty of things Oikawa ~~loves~~ likes about Iwaizumi Hajime. Or Iwa-chan, as he became known approximately fifteen minutes after they first became acquainted with each other in that hot, dark gay club in Shinjuku’s ni-chome district.

On the most superficial level is the way he looks. Thick, dark hair and tanned skin. Not as tall as Oikawa, but that didn’t exactly matter once the brunette had laid a flirty hand on his bicep and felt the solid mass there, which he’d later find out was to be found on every inch of him. He’s built solidly, muscled with an athlete’s frame and broad shoulders that Oikawa loves to sweep his hands across. He’s nothing _special_ to look at, not in the way people have told Tooru he is since he was sixteen, but Iwaizumi certainly is objectively good-looking. The casual, masculine confidence that pervades every aspect of Iwaizumi’s look and demeanor is the kind of thing that Oikawa is always drawn to and has never possessed himself. Still, it wasn’t exactly Iwaizumi’s appearance that made Oikawa pursue him the way he had once they got to talking. There was something else that pulled him in after that first initial spark, a force so strong and innate it felt like Oikawa was succumbing to gravity itself. Attraction, definitely. Compatibility? He’d like to think so. Regardless, Iwaizumi has always been just so damn interesting to Oikawa.

Part of it, he’s almost certain, is the contradiction of a native Japanese with the cultural identity of American. Oikawa has always been branded as ‘out there’ - obnoxious to most and charismatic to everyone else - but even so, he still has the cultural cues and values of Japan engrained into every inch of him. He’s still one to ‘read the atmosphere’ as the Japanese social mantra goes, even if he’s utilised that code of behaviour to develop a talent that can manipulate people and situations to his favour. Iwaizumi is different. He’s Japanese, has Japanese parents, but having been plucked from his homeland at seven years old and raised somewhere completely different, he’s basically American in everything but ethnicity and heritage. Iwaizumi had been inclined to agree, when Oikawa had posed his musings to him after about a year of knowing each other, their legs tangled together in hotel sheets in the Tokyo dawn. Maybe the sentiment that everyone is the same at heart regardless of culture or upbringing is correct, in the end - but regardless, Oikawa still believes there’s a difference in tendencies and behaviours. Iwaizumi is essentially bilingual thanks to his parents’ efforts to keep up his Japanese - even if his kanji knowledge is shit and he sometimes relies on Oikawa to phrase things a little more simply or occasionally explain a word’s meaning - so the difference is perhaps more subtle. But his cultural identity is there in the way he behaves. 

Oikawa had tried to explain this to Mattsun once whilst cooking dinner, but he’s found it’s difficult to describe. It’s just-- sometimes the things Iwaizumi says, or the ways he says them, is jarring. Not because it’s _wrong_ , but just because (Oikawa feels) it’s not the way a ‘Japanese person’ would say it. Iwaizumi is blunt - he doesn’t stop to ‘read the atmosphere’ because everything where he’s from is so explicit that he’s never needed to before. Back home in the States, there’s no talking around the subject, or trying to silently gauge meaning, or holding back opinions, is what he’d told Oikawa. It was followed by a casual _‘does it bother you? Is it embarrassing?’_ and Oikawa had actually laughed. First of all, because Iwaizumi was the least apologetic person Oikawa had ever met, so to hear him actually concerned (but effecting casualness) had been odd. But also because-- Well. Tooru has spent his whole life perfecting how to use these useless social graces to his own advantage, to get his way by artfully playing the game that has to be played in this society, and to him it was just so refreshing to have someone around who simply chose to just ignore the game and the unspoken rules of it completely. Or failed to recognise it in the first place - whichever it may be. Despite that, the difference isn’t severe, probably thanks to the fact Iwaizumi isn’t obnoxious. Iwaizumi’s behaviour is never enough to become a problem or make things awkward: in short, no, it isn’t bothersome, nor is it embarrassing. It challenges Oikawa in the best way, not only because Iwaizumi is a new kind of player to deal with in the social game of life, but also because he challenges conventions Oikawa doesn’t even know he has, when even he finds himself surprised at something Iwaizumi decides to come out with. He loves Iwaizumi’s bluntness - loves it when he’s so blunt with Oikawa it’s almost shocking. Likes it when Iwaizumi abandons all formality and politeness and makes fun of him and calls him an idiot. Engaging him in a conversation is thrilling in a way Oikawa has never experienced before. He loves it.

He loves this, too - the way Iwaizumi conducts himself in public while he’s with Oikawa. Oikawa doesn’t think Iwaizumi is that much of a ‘public affection’ kind of guy anyway, but he still knows he can’t be as open here as maybe he’s used to back home in Los Angeles. Even so, sitting here now in the cafe, the way Iwaizumi’s eyes are focussed on him, dark and warm, is just a shade _more_ than ‘good friends’. There’s a small smile on his face as Oikawa regales him with tales of things that have happened to him over these past few months since they’ve seen each other, and though the ankles tangled with his own under the table are casual, if someone were to notice it, their insinuation would be far too blatant. It makes Oikawa’s heart race - the casual masculinity of Iwaizumi’s affection. It isn’t calculated - he doesn’t even think about doing it - it just happens. Oikawa has always liked to show off, and has always dreamt of the day he could make a display of affection with someone special beyond the safe boundary of the gay district. There are people who do so of course - times are changing here, but they haven’t changed enough yet and even Oikawa doesn’t want to mess with the status quo - being gay in Japan requires restraint. The nail that sticks up gets hammered, after all.

The way Iwaizumi stretches his arm across the table and fiddles with Oikawa’s glass isn’t a blatant public display of affection heterosexual couples maybe feel more at liberty to make, but it’s enough to send a thousand butterflies loose inside his chest, wings fluttering against his ribcage, because he knows it’s Iwaizumi reaching out, trying to forge some connection with him; an attempt to reduce the distance between them. It feels like a secret shouted out for all the world to hear, should they care to listen.

The way Iwaizumi abruptly - but politely - asks a passing waitress for the bill, all the while sending a warm, knowing smile in Oikawa’s direction is just another thing he loves.

~~~~~~~~

“Shit, baby, you’re always so perfect--”

There’s another thing Oikawa loves about Iwaizumi: the way he forgets and slips back into English when he’s so turned on that he loses himself.

Oikawa gasps and tilts his head back further into the pillow at the groan to his ear and the pair of strong hands sliding down his front as if in worship. He loves talking to Iwaizumi. He loves spending time with him, being teased by him - he even loves the calm silences they have over coffee or sitting shoulder-to-shoulder in a taxi back to a hotel. But _god_ does he love this - the way Iwaizumi presses him down into a mattress to hover over him and caress him and whisper things he can only barely understand at the best of times into his ear.

“Iwa-chan--” he gasps, because it’s been three months since Oikawa has been touched by Iwaizumi, or _anyone_ , and he suddenly can’t stand having him so close if he’s not _inside_. He’s desperate, hands and body shaking as they reach up to grasp broad shoulders, nails pressing a little too hard into skin as he starts to get sucked into the desperate, cavernous _want_ he always tries to ignore. “Shh, me too,” Iwaizumi coos in English, and it’s his soothing tone rather than his actual words that Oikawa is able to comprehend, heels digging into the mattress as he tugs at Iwaizumi’s expensive belt with his right hand, chanting a whiny and breathless _‘need you, need you, need you’_ in a way he’d be appalled at if he could ever hear himself.

But Iwa-chan doesn’t help his clumsy fingers in their mission. Instead he pauses, leaning forward to press a kiss to Oikawa’s forehead and brush the damp hair out of his eyes. It’s a soft gesture so out of place in the growing heat of Iwaizumi’s hotel room. He’s looking at Tooru like he’s considering something. Oikawa’s heart pounds. Why is he waiting, why isn’t he _inside_ , Oikawa prepared himself for this before they even met up this evening so they could do it quick, but he’s been ready for this for _months_ now anyway and-- 

“I’m going to give you what you want,” Iwaizumi says gently, in Japanese this time. “But you need to calm down okay?” Only then does Oikawa realise he’s _trembling_ , right hand still at Iwaizumi’s buckle and his left in a vice grip around a strong shoulder. Tooru’s blood runs cold at his lack of control. He forces himself to let go and nods shakily, willing himself to relax and let the tension leave his body. Iwa-chan smiles but there’s an odd look in his eyes that makes Oikawa worry slightly, like he should say something to throw Iwaizumi off the scent, but before he can consider it fully the other is pulling back and removing his belt with an efficiency that makes the already-burning heat in Oikawa’s abdomen spike again. The next few minutes pass by in a slick, heavy blur and before he knows it they’re both naked and the pillow that had been behind his head is now under his hips. Iwaizumi’s hand presses into the mattress, the other wrapped around Oikawa’s hip, and then he’s pushing inside.

It’s an explosion of sensation.

Oikawa’s back lifts off the mattress in an arc as he lets out a soft whine, every inch of him damp with sweat by now. Iwaizumi feels _amazing_ ; he always does. A casual arrangement shouldn’t feel like this - it never has before, at least - but he can hardly dwell on that when Iwa-chan takes his legs and pushes, creating all the room he needs in the way that he knows Oikawa loves. He’s reverted back to English again, whispering hoarse somethings Oikawa can only decipher as praise from the way they sound, but the fact that he doesn’t actually understand the words somehow only makes it hotter, better. 

Iwaizumi is as talkative as Oikawa is in bed - maybe even more so - and he loves that; loves the way the soft moans and whispers make him feel wanted. If he’s honest, feeling desired is not exactly something new to someone like him, but there’s something about having Iwaizumi’s attention on him, and about being wanted by Iwaizumi like this, that feels much more special than it would if it were anyone else. Oikawa doesn’t even want to look at anyone else anymore, much less waste his time trying to reach the heights Iwaizumi takes him to with them - so he doesn’t bother, even if it leaves him alone and wanting late at night, brown eyes staring at a ‘message read’ notification or a world clock with the city set to Los Angeles, CA, USA.

He kisses Iwaizumi like he’s drowning, and it certainly feels like he is when Iwaizumi’s teeth clamp down on his bottom lip hard, a damp tongue soothing it immediately after with a messy swipe across flesh. Then there’s a hand around his cock and Iwaizumi is driving harder and Oikawa’s vision is swimming so much that he’s forced to close his eyes, riding towards the edge solely on the barrage of sensation Iwaizumi forces onto him. He comes with a cry, clinging to Iwaizumi even after he follows him to orgasm, dropping down onto Oikawa in a heavy heap once he’s finished. Oikawa holds him close, stealing his body heat and inhaling his scent in an embrace that masquerades as nothing more than a quick post-coital gathering of wits. He can always get away with clinging to Iwa-chan in the soft sleepiness that will come for them later, but in order to stave off any suspicion about what he may or may not feel, he has to keep it short for now. Except, when he removes his arms from around Iwaizumi with a final swipe of his hand down a broad, damp back, Iwaizumi rolls off the bed and makes quick work of disposing of the condom as he always does, but he doesn’t collapse in the space beside him when he’s done, like usual. Instead he climbs back across the mattress, lowering himself so he’s laying half on Oikawa and then proceeds to drape his arm atop Oikawa’s sweaty skin, hand resting over his heart. Oikawa stares down at said arm in bewilderment, heart beating a mile a minute (surely Iwaizumi can feel it), words or questions refusing to come to him. “I know you need to shower,” Iwaizumi murmurs sleepily into Oikawa’s shoulder, “but let’s just lie here for a few minutes.”

Oikawa doesn’t dare move an inch until Iwaizumi’s breaths even out into the endearing little huffs that reveal he’s asleep, terrified the tiniest movement will shatter the illusion his mind must have conjured up. Iwa-chan doesn’t initiate cuddles with him after sex. After sex, Iwa-chan lies down next to Oikawa, leaving at least a polite couple of inches of (cavernous) space between them, but still doesn’t say anything or pull away when they wake up wrapped around each other the next morning. It’s the way they’ve operated since the first time, and this deviation is entirely unexpected. Oikawa eventually slips away to shower, bringing back a damp hand towel to gently wipe his sweaty Iwa-chan down whilst trying not to wake him, then slides onto the mattress behind him to spoon him like always.

Iwaizumi’s only here for five days this time, and they only have tonight together. The hotel room is eerily quiet as Oikawa leans forward to press his nose to the soft, dark hair at the base of Iwaizumi’s skull, slick with sweat from the sex and the heat - the real reason he always demands on being the big spoon. He’s never seen Iwaizumi off at the airport; has never been asked to do so or asked himself if he can. He didn’t care at first, but the past few times he hasn’t dared to broach the topic in case it sets off a chain reaction of sheer doom and brings about the destruction of-- well, whatever this is right now. Is it too much, to go to Narita International with him and wave him off like a real lover would? They’re not together, so surely that’s too much for their _casual_ arrangement, right? By asking would it be obvious to Iwaizumi that Oikawa maybe wanted more?

It’s so exhausting to toe the line when Oikawa has no idea what their boundaries even are. Tooru has the image of someone never afraid to test the waters, to test the extent of his ability and influence. That’s true, to a certain extent, but he’s always been terrified of things that _matter_ to him - or rather, the thought of potentially losing them. Fear suddenly catches the breath in his throat, and though Oikawa can’t bring himself to beg Iwaizumi to stay out loud, his lips move to form the words in the darkness, the breath against the back of the other’s neck a whisper of a desperate plea.

~~~~~~~~

Things start to truly hit the fan nearly a month later, on ‘girls’ night’ with Makki. They’re having Korean food, though their favourite restaurant in the heart of Ebisu is busy enough that they’re stuck sitting side by side at the last available table, both facing the wall and the slightly pixilated stock photo of Seoul plastered across it for decoration. The grill between them sizzles with the meat Makki is gleefully cooking, but Oikawa is too concerned with the extra bibimbap he’d ordered. It feels like he’s been eating it for days and there’s still no end in sight. How typical of him, to get himself into these kinds of messes-- He sighs and Makki tuts, picking up his screwdriver cocktail and taking a long sip through the straw he insisted on despite the fact he’s a twenty-eight year-old male drinking alcohol. When Oikawa glances at him, those sharp eyes are peering at him intensely.

“Is this about your slice of American pie?” he asks directly and Oikawa almost chokes on his spoonful of rice. The ever-changing puns and nicknames are old hat by now so unless they’re particularly hilarious Tooru has learnt to ignore them. There’s a reference there he doesn’t get, probably; but he’s more surprised by Makki’s freaky ESP when it comes to his relationship woes. It’s a wonder Oikawa keeps him around to be honest, because it isn’t fair that the friend with the least care for tact is the one that possesses such a gift.

“No” he immediately lies, mostly just to keep up appearances because he _knows_ Makki isn’t about to buy that. 

Hanamaki rolls his eyes and sets down his glass with that air of a man that is just _done_ with his friends dramatic behaviour. “Liar. What’s the problem? I thought it was just a hook up thing - you’re both still seeing other people, so why are you so bothered about one guy not always being around?” Oikawa freezes for a second, before reaching out to delicately pluck his whisky Highball off the table and taking a long, innocent sip. Makki gasps, the sound so scandalised it would be funny if the situation wasn’t so damn depressing.

“You’re _not?!_ ”

Oikawa knows it’s inconceivable - it’d be so easy for him to do so, after all. It’s always been so easy for him to find a hook up on the weekend if he needed it. Unfortunately, he just doesn’t want to. “ _Tooru!_ He comes - what, every two of three months if you’re lucky?” Well yes, the lack of sex would be the kicker for Makki - who was _the_ party boy of Ni-chome (along with Oikawa) until he’d discovered Mattsun was hopelessly in love with him and immediately admitted that he felt the same. For him, the second he’d become monogamous he’d entered into some weird symbiotic marriage with Mattsun fueled mostly on memes and sex that left them both happy and fulfilled human beings. 

But that was Mattsun and Makki. They were soulmates and always had been. Just because Oikawa had stopped his (probably unhealthy) routine of picking up a random guy every Saturday in between Iwaizumi’s ‘visits’ didn’t mean anything. Except for the fact he spent those Saturday nights (and the other six days of the week too) hopelessly pining and-- And he most definitely had feelings for Iwaizumi, _his life was the worst_.

“I mean come on, that’s a bad idea and you know it. He’s like some international business man, right? He probably travels to all sorts of places, yeah? You’re his Tokyo boy, but I bet he has someone in each city he visits - which is fine I guess, as long as there’s no strings and no one catches feelings--”

There’s a sudden onset of silence, as if Makki is only just know realising that is definitely the case, which perfectly compliments Oikawa’s earth-shattering discovery that what Makki is saying to him is probably very true. He’d never thought of it before. His face feels slack and he notices numbly that the spoon he’d been holding is no longer between his fingers but is instead laying sadly in his bowl. Iwaizumi had mentioned occasionally travelling to other cities, New York and Osaka and the like, but Oikawa had never considered the possibility that Iwaizumi has people like him everywhere he goes even semi-regularly-- Iwaizumi is so amazing, and kind, and funny and he and Tooru are just casual anyway, so what’s stopping him from having ‘arrangements’ in every city, really? But that would make him, what, just a pit-stop? Oikawa turns his eyes to Makki who is watching his reaction with something like horror.

The meat sizzles between them, charring and forgotten.

“Oh _no_ Tooru-” but thankfully Makki doesn’t say anything other than that. It’s obvious that he’d just shoved these awful sorts of ponderings right at Oikawa’s blissful ignorance. They reach for their drinks in sync, and Tooru tips his glass to his oncoming emotional apocalypse in one last sardonic acknowledgement of his terrible life before they both take a long pull of their drinks because oh _yes_ , he’s fucked.

He has feelings for Iwaizumi Hajime, who probably has casual lovers just like him in every major city he visits on business, as well as a string of them at home in Los Angeles. One or two might even be prettier or smarter than Oikawa. Maybe they’re bilingual and take the strain of an occasional language barrier out of the equation. Maybe they’re even _allowed to see him off at the airport_. Oikawa is just his Tokyo Boy, just another pit-stop on Iwaizumi’s travels.

He needs another fucking Highball, mashing the button to call a server over to take the order.

~~~~~~~~

The next morning sees Oikawa stumbling into his bathroom to heave out the contents of his stomach and for a while he’s too busy lamenting his pathetically hungover state, long limbs akimbo on his bathroom floor, to remember why he’d gotten so fucking drunk in the first place. It comes to him eventually though, with the inevitability of an avalanche or volcanic eruption, and leaves him lying on the sofa, tangled in a blanket and feeling very sorry for himself. He’s watching some vapid variety show and one of the kooky presenters is in America, trying to navigate themselves through some appointed task despite the fact they don’t know any English at all.

Oikawa had been good at English in school, but he’d quickly learnt that memorising grammar and earning high test scores meant nothing for actual skill in conversation. He curses the Japanese school system for his linguistic failings as he watches the man try and ask for directions, thinking this is what he’d be like if he ever went to America. Iwaizumi’s anonymous Osaka Boy was probably bilingual and had probably been to America and was probably much easier to be around--

Just as Oikawa begins to delve a little too deep into his morbid fantasy, there’s a key turning in the lock of his front door, the familiar sounds of Mattsun shuffling his way out of his shoes in the genkan following soon after. “Are you wallowing?” he asks as he enters the living room, small smile on his face and smart trench coat billowing behind him. Oikawa had bought him that for his birthday a couple years ago, and had immediately regretted it after he’d put it on and it became apparent that Mattsun was definitely cooler and more suave without even _trying_ than Oikawa could ever be. “‘Hiro told me what happened. I figure I’d let you deal with your hangover first and then come over. I love you, but not enough to suffer through the noises you make when you throw up.”

Oikawa has to concede to that. He _is_ awful at vomiting, or being ill in general. He just can’t handle it. People like him belong on the healthy end of the spectrum - any other state of existence is a complete waste of his good looks and natural charisma (even if he can’t speak English). Not that he feels particularly charismatic or good-looking right now. He just feels sick and totally irrelevant to the lives of people he cares about. Oh, and add pathetic to that list, too.

There’s a box of pizza in Matsukawa’s hands, which he sets on Oikawa’s lap before shucking off his coat and draping it on a chair. Opening the lid, Oikawa finds it covered in plenty of cheese and an assortment of greasy meats and sighs happily, picking up a slice and taking a tentative bite. With no sign of his stomach revolting against him after a short wait, he finishes the slice in three more bites. Mattsun had refilled his glass of water somewhere in that time, placing it carefully by Oikawa’s feet before dropping onto the sofa beside him, lidded gaze wandering to the TV. They’re silent until Oikawa finishes his third slice, conceding defeat for now and curling against Mattsun’s side. A long arm wraps around his shoulders, Mattsun’s hand patting at his wild bedhead, his calm aura doing wonders in soothing Oikawa. Makki is Oikawa’s best friend, and they can laugh and holler at anything and everything until the first train home in the morning, but Matsukawa is something more that he can’t quite put into words. Mattsun, who knows every good and bad thing about him; who is always there to open his weirdly-long arms for a hug whenever Oikawa needs it; who is always there to make him feel safe and never brings any of these moments up to make him feel embarrassed later. Mattsun is a lighthouse of stability and love in the raging seas of Oikawa’s hectic existence.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” the taller asks quietly and Oikawa shakes his head no, turning so his back is against Mattsun’s side and the other’s arm is draped over his chest, warm and secure. He doesn’t want to talk about it, so instead presses his face into the soft sleeve of Matsukawa’s sweater. Now that the idea is in his head and he’s sober, he has a lot to think about it.

Oikawa has had dozens of one night stands throughout his mis-spent youth (or rather, his early twenties), sprinkled with a few flings and even a couple almost-credible relationships. Thinking about it, he doesn’t think he’s ever really been emotionally available before. He had his own problems to deal with, issues with spite and crippling self-doubt and seeking validation in the wrong places. He likes pretty faces and dynamic, exciting, difficult people, but deep down he’s always known he’d needed something different. Something beyond the superficial - something understanding, forgiving, stable, reliable. Like what Mattsun gives him, except different. More. Oikawa thinks he’s been avoiding all of these things and sticking with one night stands because that’s easier. Because Oikawa has always known once he opens himself up to the other option he’ll fall, fall, fall. Oikawa knows himself. He’s fragile in a way he’ll never admit, and to pursue the things he actually wanted and needed in a relationship would be painting a target over his heart. Oikawa has hurt himself enough in the past; still has the potential to do so now. He doesn’t need to give someone else the opportunity to do it, too.

He’d just wanted a hook-up with a masculine, slightly above-average-looking guy that night. It had gotten even more exciting when he turned out to be unusual, out of Oikawa’s normal. And because Iwaizumi wasn’t really going to be _around_ , it didn’t seem like it would do any harm to exchange numbers and maybe set up another hook-up the next time he’d be in town, because there’d never be enough time to develop feelings or make things complicated. Even the second time they met, Oikawa hadn’t really expected there to be a third, fourth, or a fifth time, or however many times there’s been up to this point. He hadn’t expected Iwaizumi to be all those things he’d always secretly wanted but conscientiously avoided. He hadn’t expected to walk right into the trap, ironically by doing everything in his power to avoid it.

He hadn’t expected to feel a sick, churning in his stomach at the thought of Iwaizumi with anyone else. To his credit, he’d never actually thought about it before - how the possibility of this meaning as little as a convenient hook-up for the other man could be so painful for him. But now Makki has woken him up to it and Oikawa has to face the consequences of that. If he is just Iwaizumi’s Tokyo Boy, he’ll have to end it, even if almost every part of him revolts at the idea. It’s for his own sake, before he acknowledges words like _love_ and it all gets so much more ugly and painful.

He’s going to have to start talking. He’s going to have to start asking the questions he’s always wondered, has only ever breathed in the dark of night when Iwaizumi’s sound asleep. And now he’s more afraid of the answers than ever before.

 

 

After a couple of hours and an endless cycle of worrying too much and chewing jerkily on pizza, Oikawa decides he’s had enough. This indulgence in his life’s woes isn’t healthy and besides - he’s been monopolising too much of Mattsun’s time today, which couldn’t be fun for his friend. Especially when he’d graciously allowed Oikawa to use him as a human pillow this whole time, barely moving.

“Alright. I’m fine, you can go now,” he declares, turning to face Mattsun, bringing his long legs up onto the sofa. “I’ve kept you too long--”

Matsukawa cuts him off with a flat stare, silencing Oikawa without a word. The brunette huffs in response and Mattsun smiles. “I’m here because I wanted to make sure you were okay. Makki understands that. Stop feeling guilty.” And really, that’s all well and good, but it still didn’t make Oikawa feel _okay_ about always needing Mattsun to clean up his emotional messes or be there for him and take him away from Makki-- “Besides - he got called into work this morning. And the asshole next door was playing his trumpet again so I couldn’t play Zelda in peace.”

“But it’s a _Saturday!_ ” Oikawa complains on both Makki and Mattsun’s behalf, because neither working nor getting terrorised by your trumpet-fanatic neighbour on the best day of the week is fun. Mattsun just shrugs in agreement and grabs the last slice of pizza, frowning as the limp base makes the whole slice flop sadly.

“I know, it’s the worst. So let me waste the day here with you even if you aren’t a snotty, heartbroken mess that needs to use me as a human tissue.” The ‘like usual’ is omitted, but Oikawa feels like Mattsun has dealt with the aftermath of more than a couple of jerks to make it a fair addition. Just because he’d been avoiding the type of guy that’d make him the most vulnerable didn’t mean Oikawa hadn’t gotten hurt by plenty of outright assholes, after all.

He is okay today, though. A little shaken by the possibility of being one convenient acquaintance in a crowd of others to Iwa-chan. yes, but nothing he can’t handle. And despite how Oikawa feels, the other hadn’t exactly promised him anything. They’d never discussed it, but Tooru had been aware it was to be a casual thing when they started it, so why should it be any different now? Oikawa’s feelings are all on him, and nothing to do with Iwaizumi. He’s about to tell Mattsun this when his phone buzzes, what part of the screen he can see from where the device is wedged between his couch cushions lighting up. The box that flashes up tells him he has a text and after wiping his greasy fingers on his sweatpants (that’s what they’re _there_ for), he plucks it out, swiping the screen to unlock it.

>> _Being dragged back over there in two weeks for interviews. Plus side is I’m free the weekend I’m there, from March 1st._

The thing with Iwaizumi is that he won’t often explicitly _ask_ Oikawa out, or ask him to make time for him. He says it’s because he hates how smug Oikawa gets when he’s upfront about wanting to see him, but Oikawa thinks it’s Iwa-chan trying to be considerate, or something. He’s always been one of those guys focussed on consent and no pressure - he’d already told Oikawa a couple of times that he didn’t have to feel obligated to see him whenever he’s in Japan, because Iwaizumi realises Oikawa actually has a life here and can’t always drop whatever plans he’s made just to see him. Of course, that’s exactly what Tooru does every time, but it’s never out of obligation. Oikawa _always_ wants to see him: even now, despite all the worries and negativity swirling in his stomach, he still wants to see Iwaizumi.

He taps the phone against his forehead as he thinks. He wants to see Iwaizumi, but this time it’s actually inconceivable for him to cancel his existing plans.

“That him?”

A look he sends Mattsun’s way says ‘of course’ in reply.

“He’s coming back over?” Matsukawa asks, and Tooru nods.

“You’re going to see him right? To clear things up once and for all?” Oikawa can only shrug before Matsukawa preemptively speaks up again. “You owe it to yourself, Tooru. You need to know where you stand, you can’t--”

“It’s not that,” he butts in, waving the phone through the air for emphasis. “He’s coming, and he says he has free time. On March 1st, which is your _birthday_ and me you and Makki have plans already--”

“So invite him.”

Oikawa’s hand drops to the cushion immediately, round eyes searching out Mattsun’s, which look calm as ever. “Seriously - invite him. We were only gonna hang out at Ukai’s bar anyway. If he comes, you’ll be able to celebrate my birthday _and_ see him.” Lazy eyes flash with a mild intensity before Mattsun says, “me and Makki will finally get to meet him, too. If he says no or makes some shitty excuse about why he can’t make, making it clear he doesn’t want to meet your best friends - well, you get your answer then too, don’t you?.”

It’s a compelling case; Oikawa can’t deny it. If Iwaizumi shuts him down with an excuse when he’s already said he’s free, then it would be pretty obvious it’s because he doesn’t want to get involved in Oikawa’s life, that he’s not interested in more than what they currently have. It’d be enough to break it off even without a conversation. He hums, thinking about it for a minute. He wants to see Iwaizumi. He wants answers. But he also wouldn’t dream of cancelling out on one of his most precious friend’s birthdays, especially not for a _boy_. ...And as much as he likes to rib both of them, Oikawa also trusts Makki and Mattsun to behave - they won’t jump on Iwaizumi demanding the answers Oikawa needs; they’ll leave that for him to deal with privately. More importantly, he trusts their judgement probably more than his own, if he’s being honest. Having them there to feel Iwa-chan out might actually be a good idea. He probably should have done that sooner. He does want both parties to meet each other. It seems like a no-brainer now that he’s opened up to them about Iwaizumi more (or been forced into it by his and Hanamaki’s conversation the night before, but still).

Even if nearly every fibre of his being is telling him to keep Makki away from Iwaizumi, for the latter’s sake, there’s also a part of him that wants to see how Iwa-chan will handle it.

Oikawa takes a breath to steady himself, and then takes the plunge, fingers flying over the touchscreen keyboard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 coming soon~~
> 
> HMU with questions, clarification, comments or just a chat on [tumblr](http://ikiteiruka.tumblr.com/)!!  
> I'm down for requests, HC/AU discussion and maybe collabs too OwO


	2. Do I Wanna Know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm laughing because i said it'd only be a couple of days after the first chapter that i'd upload this part because i just had the final editing to do. i literally only had the dialogue to double-check but life got away from me i'm so so sorry. but here we are!! please enjoy :)
> 
> happy birthday oikawa tooru, you deserve everything. thank u <3

  
_simmer down and pucker up_  
_i'm sorry to interrupt, it's just i'm constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you_  
_i don't know if you feel the same as i do_  
_but we could be together, if you wanted to_  
[[X]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpOSxM0rNPM)

**Saturday March 1st**

The day of reckoning is finally here, and Oikawa is finding it hard to be his usual calm and collected self as he, Makki and Mattsun lounge on their favourite set of couches in the corner of Ukai’s bar. It’s a nice place, hidden on the second floor of a nondescript building in their beloved ni-chome, surprisingly spacious with a calm atmosphere; a place where working professionals can come to socialise with their community but also avoid the more… enthusiastic and gaudy youths that like to flock to the gay bars and clubs at the weekend. The three of them are making a good effort at acting normally, but there’s no denying they’re all waiting for the star of the show.

Surprisingly, Iwaizumi had immediately accepted the invitation, saying it ‘sounded fun’.

What did that even _mean?_

Due to his limited time in Tokyo, Iwa-chan had to work today too, from the morning ‘til the early evening, but promised to come straight after work. Oikawa loves the times he gets to see Iwa-chan in a suit after work the most. The best instance so far had been last Summer, when with the high humidity Tokyo’s army of salarymen had been allowed to man the frontlines of office work sans blazer. When Oikawa had met Iwaizumi late one evening for a few drinks at an izakaya, Iwa-chan had been wearing a light blue button-down, no tie, his sleeves rolled up to just below his elbow. His forearms had looked _incredible_ and once they were finally, finally alone Oikawa had immediately--

His phone buzzes, the message a genial _’On the train now, I’ll be about 10 mins. Get me a beer?’_ and Oikawa’s stomach does all sorts of acrobatics in response. He does as he’s told, standing woodenly and then returning from the bar a few minutes later with his usual Highball and a beer for Iwa-chan, his friends visibly perking up once they catch sight of the extra drink.

From then it’s a waiting game, an anxious five minutes or so where Oikawa’s nervous brown gaze keeps getting tugged towards the door, his whole frame wound tight with tension.

And then suddenly Iwa-chan is there at the threshold, pocketing his phone and scanning the bar - their eyes meet and Oikawa stands up immediately. Iwa-chan’s dressed smartly, in a crisp-looking black suit and a muted tie, though it’s been loosened a little and the first two buttons from his collar are undone, his trademark messy now he’s free of work obligations. Strangely enough, when Iwa-chan smiles and starts making his way over, Oikawa finds himself relaxing, feeling more at ease now than before. It’s fine, it’s just Iwa-chan, and not once has Oikawa felt uncomfortable in his presence, not even the first time, when they were total strangers. Iwaizumi makes Oikawa’s brain shut up, and that’s not an easy feat.

Makki and Mattsun react immediately, a testament to the fact they’d been waiting just as eagerly for Iwaizumi’s arrival, if not more so. Their necks are craned to look behind them even before they’re fully stood, but Iwaizumi’s attention remains on Oikawa, like it’s impossible for him to notice anything else. “Sorry I’m late, I didn’t realise how long in-depth job interviews actually took here.”

There’s a pause, where Iwaizumi looks like he’s waiting for something to come from that, maybe, but Tooru is feeling a little frenetic from all his nerves and the very real fact that this is happening, right now. He barely listens to what Iwaizumi says in his haste to react to it, waving his hands around in an awkward, inflated gesture. “It’s fine, Iwa-chan! We knew you were busy!” Ah, speaking of. “Iwa-chan, these are my best friends! Hanamaki is the evil-looking pink-haired one and the bored-looking one is Matsukawa, the birthday boy~” He doesn’t get any kind of reaction from said friends at such an introduction, not that he was especially expecting one. Instead, Oikawa just wraps his hand around Iwa-chan’s bicep to tug him closer, and more importantly on the other side of the table and away from Makki, who looks _delighted_. Tooru finds himself terrified it but perseveres anyway. “Makki, Mattsun, this is Iwaizumi! He’s a brute but obviously can speak and understand Japanese just fine. As long as you don’t speak too fast he’ll be able to keep up~” Iwa-chan just huffs - it’s all true information, but Oikawa is just being his usual overbearing self by laying it out there all at once. He greets Makki and Mattsun easily with a smile and a ‘nice to meet you’, nodding his head at each of them and getting the greeting returned in kind.

They all take their seats again and Oikawa can see the gleam in Makki’s eyes at the way Iwaizumi sits close to him on the couch, immediately dropping a casual hand to Oikawa’s leg, just above the knee. He’s always more tactile in the gay district, policing himself a lot less and allowing himself to make all the casual gestures he likes to bestow upon Oikawa. “Is this for me?” he asks with a gesture towards the beer, snapping Tooru out of his silent threats at Makki to behave himself so that he can nod in reply. “You can’t say I don’t take care of you Iwa-chan~” he croons, his skin feeling warm under Iwaizumi’s broad palm, which he doesn’t move even as he leans forward to pick up his beer with his other hand.

That’s the only peace he gets before Mattsun is shifting in his seat opposite them, resting an ankle on the opposite knee, hooded gaze focused intently on the newcomer. “So, Iwaizumi,” he begins conversationally, casually, but Oikawa knows Matsukawa better than that. This is the beginning of the interrogation he’d been avoiding all this time. Oikawa sighs and takes a sip of his fresh Highball - he’s gonna need it. “I can’t say I know much about you,” those eyes flicker blame over to Oikawa for a second, before they’re back on Iwaizumi, with their not-exactly-genuine disinterest hiding the fact he’s actively _fishing_ for something to disapprove of. Iwa-chan isn’t a villain, even if he is seeing other people he’s not doing anything wrong, but he _is_ the boy Oikawa likes and who could end up hurting him. “How old are you?”

Iwaizumi seems surprised by the utterly pedestrian nature of the first question, having probably expected some kind of grilling from Oikawa’s best friends on their first meeting. Oikawa’s almost proud of his forethought. He finishes taking a sip from his beer and pulls the glass away from his mouth so he can answer a simple “twenty-eight.” He doesn’t intonate his answer like a question like he would if he were nervous, which is a good thing. It’s unsurprising though - Iwa-chan is quietly confident in himself, something Oikawa likes. He rests his hand on Iwaizumi’s forearm, long fingers stretching down almost to the shiny silver watch at his wrist and the hand resting on Oikawa’s thigh beyond.

“Ah, we’re all the same age, then!” Hanamaki chimes in, looking like he’s enjoying himself far too much already. His eyes slide from Oikawa’s hand to Matsukawa. “Since Mattsun finally caught up today~”

“Oh, yeah,” Iwaizumi says, suddenly remembering why they’re gathered. “Sorry- happy birthday, by the way. I hope this idiot didn’t buy you a useless present.” His head tips towards Oikawa as he says ‘this idiot’ and Oikawa lets out a sound of protest because really, Iwa-chan is going to make fun of him in front of his best friends? Who also love to make fun of him and will only take it as encouragement? Matsukawa seems surprised at first, before he chuckles and waves Iwaizumi off, mentioning the expensive sweater that actually catered to his tastes perfectly.

The short interruption doesn’t deter Matsukawa for long, and he’s back to fishing. The next few questions follow much in the same way - they’re all about basic things Oikawa knows already, and whilst Mattsun asks them casually, he makes no extra attempt to disguise the fact this is a clear dig for information. Where he lives, when he moved over from Japan to the States, what company he works for, et cetera. Oikawa knows that Mattsun is simply doing this because he’d remained uncharacteristically tight-lipped about things concerning Iwaizumi, and not because he’s actually trying to help Oikawa figure out any secret Iwa-chan might have. There had been something scary in the thought of telling Makki and Mattsun more than the odd fact or tale about Iwaizumi. He and the pair have been best friends for years, there’s hardly a significant memory or time in his life where the couple don’t feature - and that’s nice - but it had also been nice to have something for himself. Not that Iwa-chan is his possession, but this thing they had was until now a part of his life that was his own, and not shared with his two best friends.

Oikawa could define himself to Iwaizumi in a way _he_ wanted - the closest to his true self he’s probably ever gotten - with no outside interference. That had been liberating. Because of that, what they had between them felt precious and private, but also _fragile_ and Oikawa hadn’t wanted to do anything that could compromise it in any way, had wanted to protect it from the outside world.

Iwa-chan is handling it all like a pro though, seeming unruffled if not totally at ease with the questions. He’d probably been expecting a certain measure of curiosity (suspicion) despite the fact Oikawa hadn’t mentioned anything to him about having to prepare for a stand-off. Whatever they have between them has been going on for a while now, so it’s probably to be expected it would garner curiosity from the people around them. Oikawa wonders if any of Iwaizumi’s friends or family know about _him_ \- but though the familiar crooning of doubt in the back of his mind tells him _why would they, if you’re not the only one?_

“Alright, that’s enough interrogation!” The conversation had turned into too much of a question and answer format to feel natural, and Oikawa’s saviour had come in the unlikely form of Makki. He sends a small smile to his friend in thanks, who catches it but doesn’t make a big deal out of it. Morals or not, Makki is good in unfamiliar social situations. Oikawa is usually the conductor of conversation or atmosphere at social gatherings but he’s a little too involved in this; a little too dependent on the way it turns out that he’s taking a more passive role. It’s lucky Makki is there and willing to take up the mantle. “So I’ve been told discussing kinks apparently isn’t welcome on a first meeting, and Mattsun doesn’t want to hear sex stories featuring Oikawa, unfortunately. So instead, do you wanna hear an embarrassing story about Oikawa? We have lots.”

Okay, maybe Oikawa shouldn’t be singing Makki’s praises too much.

Iwa-chan huffs, unsure if he should be amused or not at Hanamaki’s interruption (despite the fact he clearly _is_ amused), but at the mention of embarrassing stories his interest is clearly piqued. He inches forward just the slightest bit and nods eagerly in between swigs of his beer. “What have you got? I mean, he’s pretty ridiculous. And you guys have known him for a long time, so you must have some great ones.” Oikawa can only whine, using the hand not wound around Iwaizumi’s forearm to cover his own face in embarrassment, because he’s powerless to stop what’s about to happen. Really, it had only been a matter of time. Even Tooru can admit he’s a hopeless, embarrassing guy. Makki grins, all teeth, apparently pleased with Iwaizumi’s enthusiasm and willingness to help him humiliate Oikawa. Iwaizumi huffs at Oikawa’s familiar dramatics, squeezing his thigh to try and placate him even if he immediately turns to Hanamaki afterwards to hear the story, displaying absolutely zero remorse in the face of Oikawa’s mortification.

“Okay so we came here for the New Years just gone, right?” Oikawa can’t help but let out a muffled wail as Makki begins to recount just how drunk he’d gotten after they decided to avoid the rammed shrines around the city and instead just spend the night in Ukai’s bar with all the regulars. He’d gotten drunk. Incredibly so. To the point he thought it would be appropriate to display the flexibility he’s obtained from years of yoga and other training, kicking his leg up to show just how high and straight he could extend it, loudly imploring everyone to look and witness his incredible display of dexterity. “Which you know, would have been fine - it’s a good party trick and Tooru is hilarious when he’s _that_ smashed - yelling and slurring for people to ‘witness his amazingness’ - it would have been fine, if not for what happened next.” Makki pauses his dramatic retelling here, casting mischievous eyes over to Oikawa to revel in his red face and clear discomfort, and Iwaizumi is hooked. “And? What did this dumbass do?”

“He kicked a lamp that used be over there-” Makki graciously points across the room to where the light used to be before it got smashed “-which obviously knocked him off balance, sending him crashing into Ukai, the guy who owns this place. They crashed to the floor and ultimately that’s how Oikawa ended up doing the splits on top of the owner of our favourite bar, immediately acting like it was the planned finale of his little show. I’ve got pictures.”

Iwaizumi lets out a bark of laughter.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa complains immediately, tightening his fingers around Iwaizumi’s arm so the other turns to look at see his absolute mortification. At least Iwa-chan looks a bit remorseful once he witnesses the _pain_ on Oikawa’s face at having Iwaizumi know some of his less than suave escapades. “Sorry,” he says, and though he’s clearly amused, he does mean it. What puts the stars in Oikawa’s eyes though, is the way he leans forward without thinking and presses a soft peck to the corner of Oikawa’s mouth in apology. It’s something he always does when they’re alone and Oikawa ends up whining because of Iwa-chan’s bullying. It never fails to make him melt but here, in front of his _friends_ and in the safe yet still public setting of Ukai’s bar, it makes his stomach twist and his chest flutter in the best of ways. It’s the kind of casual public display he’s often daydreamed about. It fills him with soft, easy heat that warms him to the core and makes his eyelids droop a little lower. Makes him lean more towards Hajime, hopelessly pulled in by his unthinking self-assuredness, and press a kiss to his lips in reply. His gaze is trapped by Iwaizumi’s, and the next time he moves forward to kiss him again (just one more, because it feels so _nice_ ) Iwa-chan meets him halfway. They share a couple more quick, chaste kisses, lost in each other and forgetting everyone else at least until Mattsun is leaning forward to grab his beer, clearing his throat in a very obvious call to attention. Oikawa is snapped out of his trance immediately, eyes sliding from Mattsun’s raised brows to Makki’s soft surprise to the floor, feeling a little stunned himself.

“Sorry,” Iwaizumi says for the both of them with a smile before Oikawa can even think to speak. He seems unbothered if not a little bashful, taking a sip of his own beer. Oikawa’s a little more stunned by the unusual display of affection they’d both shared, going red. It’s not something they’ve ever done in public before, so to have done it in front of Mattsun and Makki of all people before they even know Iwa-chan is a little… intense. But what’s _really_ weird is how totally natural the intimacy had felt, and the way neither of them had really seemed to think about doing it at all. His cheeks burn - only when Iwa-chan squeezes his leg gently is he snapped out of his thoughts, smiling and trying not to look too lovestruck as he takes a long sip of his drink.

The conversation eventually begins to flow again after that episode, everyone happy to let it go except for Oikawa, who can’t help wondering what that little display _means_ for him and Iwaizumi in the gaps between his inputs in the conversation. Iwaizumi pulls away from him at some point to buy a round of drinks at the bar, though it isn’t long after he’s returned that he’s close to Oikawa again, this time with his arm slung casually behind Tooru’s shoulders across the top of the couch, casual but demonstrative as always.

It feels amazing like this; to have his three favourite people around him at once and even more critically, for Iwaizumi to be so relaxed in the situation - relaxed enough that he’s willing to indulge in the same casual displays of affection he always does when they’re alone, though if anything the situation means they’re all the more significant. Oikawa laughs as Mattsun tells Iwaizumi a story from their high school days, after a while too happy and tipsy to be embarrassed anymore, resting his head back on Iwaizumi’s arm and turning his face to look at him. Iwa-chan is really amazing. To be willing to come at all was more than enough for Oikawa, but to get along this well with Matsukawa and Hanamaki and actually be visibly enjoying himself really is amazing.

Oikawa can’t understand how someone so unassuming can be so utterly _perfect_ for him. All the shoujo manga he’s read and the dramas he’s watched have told him this kind of connection should be explosive, obvious from the start, but this… It’s natural, a slowly-dawning, creeping realisation, the time-span only stretched out further by the distance between them, the long gaps between their time together. He doesn’t want to think about the ugly possibility, the sickly thoughts of Iwaizumi sitting like this in a different city with someone else, but suddenly that grey cloud is back and he can’t help it. Sitting here and feeling this happy has the adverse effect of reminding Oikawa that there’s an Unknown he must deal with here. It forces him to confront the part of himself that thinks he might be happier not knowing, just so he can keep enjoying this. He can’t do that. He deserves to know the truth, and he owes it to himself to pursue it. Having resolved to have the conversation later already, he thinks that maybe he can just give himself tonight.

Iwaizumi continues to get on with Makki and Mattsun like a house on fire, despite his friends’ mild suspicions on his character and attitude towards his ‘thing’ with Oikawa, and that makes Oikawa _really_ happy, despite his worries. Iwaizumi is just such a likeable guy; he’s open and quietly confident and friendly, and he’s showing Oikawa’s two best friends that without even being aware of it. Thinking about all the things he admires and loves about Iwaizumi, Oikawa is reminded of just how much he _aches_ when he isn’t around. Whether he’s waiting one month to see Iwaizumi, or two or three or four, it hardly matters. It’s the same cloying need however long he’s without him; it always has him feeling touch-starved and desperate for Iwaizumi’s eyes and hands on him.

 

So once they finally make it to Oikawa’s apartment and shut the door behind them, despite the ugly unknown lingering in the wings of his thoughts, Oikawa is on Iwaizumi immediately. He’s weak and selfish, and he’s high on the adrenaline of the successful meeting of his three favourite people in this world and the fact Iwaizumi is _finally_ here, ready and willing to stay at Oikawa’s place. For the first time. He’ll find out what he wants to know later. If this is the end, he wants to make it count.

“You handled that like a champ, Iwa-chan~” he coos, cupping the other’s strong jaw with his hands, Oikawa’s own mouth pinching into a happy smile.

Iwaizumi’s hands settle on Oikawa’s hips, warm and sure as always and Oikawa sighs, stepping closer so he’s almost crowding Iwaizumi against the wall. “Hm, so it _was_ a test then?” The tone isn’t accusatory or annoyed, and Oikawa is glad that Iwa-chan is so easy-going about this stuff.

“Hardly.” Because it hadn’t been a test, not really. “You just happened to demand my presence the one time I had plans. So I killed two birds with one stone,” he explains, unable to keep the stupid smile from his face, his and Iwaizumi’s noses bumping together thanks to his apparent need to be as close to the other as physically possible. He’s happy and there’s whisky in his belly and the heat of Iwaizumi at his front and it all makes him feel like he’s floating. “I didn’t think you’d want to come. I’m really happy you did, though.”

Oikawa can practically _feel_ Iwaizumi’s frown, but he goes a little cross-eyed trying to focus on the other man’s expression with how close they are, letting out a little giggle at it because it’s silly and he’s tipsy. “Why wouldn’t I want to come?” Iwa-chan asks, sounding as grumpily bemused as he looks. “They’re your best friends.”

But that’s exactly why, doesn’t Iwa-chan see? They’re _Oikawa’s_ friends. A part of his life; a totally separate entity to this thing he has going on with Iwaizumi. Like aspects of Iwaizumi’s social life and generic details of his daily life in LA, it’s a topic rarely brought into the conversation. It’s the indescribable ‘other’, always lingering on the sidelines of their time together but never really brought up for whatever reason. Oikawa has always assumed it was because Iwaizumi hadn’t cared much to know about things that didn’t concern him - not that he didn’t care about Oikawa, because the brunette knew he did, but Iwaizumi wasn’t exactly part of his daily life despite Oikawa’s pining. It was kind of impossible to be when he spent most of his time on the other side of the world. All the two of them have ever been is a nice little connection to make when they could, quick and fun and never anything too deep. Though really, this whole thing stopped being innocent fun when Tooru started accidentally investing genuine deep emotion into it, and things had gotten a lot more confusing thanks to it. How was he to know anything about what Iwaizumi thinks or feels or wants when they never actually discuss it?

Something must show on his face, because Iwaizumi moves his hands from Oikawa’s hips to gently hold his upper arms, pushing him back a step or two so that they can properly look each other in the face. “Y’know Tooru, maybe now’s a good time to actually have a talk about--”

No. No, no, _no_. Iwa-chan doesn’t just suddenly get to become a mind reader, or start to want to _define_ things. They need to, and Oikawa knows it. It’s about fucking time they had this talk, and if anything, it’s well overdue. Tooru had been careless and ignorant by not even _thinking_ about this kind of scenario before, but for a while now he’s just been a coward plain and simple.

But finally talking about it means having to finally acknowledge that Oikawa Tooru wants what he can’t have. He can’t have Iwaizumi the way he wants. Logistically, among other ways, it just wouldn’t work. He needs to hear that, but he doesn’t _want_ to. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

How _dare_ Iwaizumi thrust this on him when Oikawa had decided to give himself one last night? Who was he to try and tear away the goodbye Oikawa had selfishly granted himself? Everything was going to go _horribly wrong._

So Tooru does what he does best in situations where he’s feeling attacked. He defends himself by taking control and becoming the aggressor, in the way only a charismatic, good-looking young man can. “How about,” he says, slowly, purposefully, lids lowering so he’s looking at Iwaizumi through the dark curl of eyelashes, “we talk later.” It’s almost a checklist, one Oikawa knows so well that even his stormy emotions stop it from coming naturally. Tilt his head to the side; lower his voice to a near purr; reach out to coyly trail long fingers across the shiny black leather of Iwaizumi’s belt. Iwaizumi takes a breath in, expression melting from serious to something more slack. This had been between them moments earlier (is always there, really), he’s just re-awakening it to suit his purpose. He shifts forward minutely. This is power Tooru still has, this is the way he can try and control the situation he’s in for just a little longer. “And right now, I show you my bedroom.” Iwaizumi’s eyes seem to darken with want, a look Oikawa only gets to see every few months in reality but sees almost every night in his dreams. _Got him_ , he thinks triumphantly, but still makes a show of biting his bottom lip as he hooks a finger in one of Iwaizumi’s belt loops, just to secure his victory. “And you can show me how much you missed me.”

Hook, line and sinker.

Oikawa leads Iwaizumi by the hand down the short hallway of his apartment, swallowing down the negativity creeping up the back of his throat while he can’t be seen. Unsurprisingly, once they reach the bedroom Iwaizumi doesn’t make much of an effort (or any at all) to examine his surroundings, nor does Oikawa make any attempt to give him any kind of inane mockery of a ‘tour’. They don’t even turn on the light, just go straight into liberating each other of their clothes: pushing jackets off shoulders to fall to the floor; fumbling over shirt buttons; forcing belts and trousers undone. It’s a familiar dance by now, the transitions from clothed to bare and from standing to reclined on Oikawa’s bed smooth and easy. The navy sheets below Oikawa are cool, a contrast to the warmth of Iwaizumi’s solid body leaning over him. He hums, bent knees bracketing Iwaizumi’s hips as he’s kissed soundly on the mouth in all the ways Iwaizumi knows he loves. There’s a hand on his thigh and Oikawa remembers the innocuous touch from earlier in the bar, in front of his friends, and moans. He wants more, pulling at the back of Iwaizumi’s neck and rolling his hips up but Iwa-chan doesn’t move; doesn’t pander to Oikawa’s obvious efforts to deepen their kiss into something deeper, messier, hotter.

“My pace,” he tells Oikawa in that gentle yet authoritative tone he likes to use in bed sometimes. The reaction is immediate - a prickle rushes its way up Oikawa’s body, starting from his toes and ending in a fizzle in his head that must be his brain short-circuiting. “You wanted me to show you, so we’ll go at my pace.”

And hell if Iwaizumi isn’t _ruthless_ with it. He won’t relent to Oikawa’s demands for fast and hard and distracting no matter what the brunette tries. He does let him scrabble to get the lube and a condom from his bedside table after a few minutes of torturous kissing, but he refuses to use them right away like Oikawa wants, instead leaving them on the sheets. It would perhaps be forgivable, if he didn’t follow it up with another simple kiss, open mouth with a little tongue but nothing that will wipe all of Oikawa’s thoughts away and leave only blissful heat behind. It’s not enough, but still Iwaizumi takes his time, kissing the corner of Oikawa’s mouth, then pressing a slow-opened mouth kiss to his jaw, below his ear, his neck. Tooru can’t help but whine, because yeah it feels _good_ \- it feels _amazing_ \- but he needs distraction right now. “Give it to me,” he demands desperately, and he always says something similar when they come together because Oikawa always _wants_ Iwaizumi, needs him even, but tonight he needs him in a different way. He needs Iwaizumi to fuck him in a way that makes Oikawa forget all the unwanted and complicated emotions Iwaizumi himself makes him feel.

Iwaizumi hums against the damp ditch of Oikawa’s collarbone, reaching up for the bottle by Oikawa’s shoulder to coat his fingers with lube. “My pace, Tooru,” he reminds him, trailing those obscenely slow kisses down Oikawa’s torso, pausing near his bellybutton so he can devote his attention to sliding in the first finger. Slow, slow, slow, until it stops completely, Iwaizumi stilling with it and just letting Oikawa _feel_ it rest inside of him for a moment.

A shudder pulls through Tooru’s entire body, his heels dig into the mattress and his fists clench around his sheets. It feels good, of course it does, but one isn’t enough. Fingers aren’t enough. He aches, he wants, he _needs-_

“Iwa-chan-”

“No.” It’s not what he wants to hear.

“Iwa-cha--”

“ _No._ ”

Oikawa clenches his teeth, one hand moving so it can press into one of his closed eyes. Frustration. At Iwa-chan now, at Iwa-chan _always_ , at this whole damn mess he’s gotten into. He needs a distraction from all of these thoughts and feelings, but Iwaizumi just won’t _give him what he needs_.

The finger inside him curls slowly and Oikawa hisses in pleasure, enraged at not getting his way even as his body reacts, convulsing and arching and trying to press into the feeling. Then Iwaizumi is pulling it out, just as slow as it went in. “Tooru, you know what I want--”

Oikawa just wants him to _stop talking_. He does know what Iwaizumi wants to hear, and he knows when he hears it he’ll shut up at least for now, which is why he cuts the other off before he can even finish his provocation. He wants to say it, anyway. He loves saying it.

“ _Hajime._ ”

And in that single word, Oikawa hears all the many months of longing and need he’s gone through. He hadn’t meant to be so damn transparent.

There’s a low moan exhaled against his hipbone, and despite everything, Oikawa likes the feel of that. What he likes even more is the two fingers that enter him this time, still slow but tolerable now he’s getting some stretch, and even better when they don’t still but stay in constant motion. Slow, deep pumps and even slower curls, torturous stretching when they’re forced apart and then brought together again, over and over. Then he adds another, repeating the movements with the same care and dedication. Iwaizumi has never fingered him so thoroughly, and though obviously they’re both experienced enough to know the joys of it, it’s always been a means to an end for them when they’ve been together. Limited time together means that having one of them inside the other has always been the end goal, but this is just as intimate, if not more with the way Iwaizumi is so slowly finger-fucking him. Oikawa pulls his hand away from his sweaty face, forcing his eyes open so he can look down his chest and check on Iwa-chan. What he sees steals his breath away. Iwaizumi’s face is still lingering over Oikawa’s hipbone, and though Tooru can see his shoulder and arm working in time to the movements inside of him, Iwaizumi’s eyes are fixed on Oikawa’s face, intense and focused and serious as he takes in every single reaction.

Oikawa can’t bear to watch him back for more than a few seconds. He doesn’t want to have to remember something as gorgeous, as satisfying as occupying absolutely all of Hajime’s attention when all this is over. He doesn’t want to be alone tomorrow after Iwaizumi inevitably leaves, and start thinking about him looking at someone else like that. It’s not a look Oikawa can lay claim to, not something he can brag about belonging to him, and that hurts.

“Please,” he begs, sounding more wrecked and flayed than he’d wanted, but it’s an accurate representation of how he feels. “Hajime, please.” _Love me_ , he thinks. _Please love me and only me_.

The fingers leave him and there’s some shuffling and then Iwaizumi is on all-fours above him again. “Are you alright?” he asks, voice even more gentle than the tanned fingertips swooping down Oikawa’s ribs.

“I’m fine,” Oikawa responds, barely even thinking about the lie now that he’s been using it for so long. He cups Iwaizumi’s face with shaking hands. “I’m fine,” he repeats, with a little more conviction despite it being the biggest lie he’s told maybe ever. “I just need you.”

That, sadly, is not a lie. Tooru needs Iwa-chan like he needs air, or good skin care products.

Iwaizumi nods, brushing Oikawa’s hair back as he drops a kiss to his cheek. His left hand fumbles across the sheets for a moment before it finds the packet, and he makes quick work of opening it and rolling the condom on. If Oikawa had the capacity to observe what’s going on around him in this moment, he’d see how sensitive Iwaizumi is, would notice how he hisses at the touch to his length when he applies extra lube and how his whole frame is tight with forced control. He’d appreciate the gentleness with which Iwaizumi lifts one of his thighs, coaxing him to wrap the leg around his hip, and he’d catalogue the hitched breath Iwaizumi takes just before he pushes inside.

As it is, Oikawa is incapable of it. He only registers the moment Iwaizumi begins to push inside him, the pace still so much slower than usual but the stretch and the feel of him the same as always. Slightly painful. Erotic. Euphoric. Fulfilling. Iwaizumi does the same as he did with his finger, he stills and lets Oikawa feel him, and it’s amazing and awful to be given such a moment. Because Iwaizumi feels like he _belongs_ there. That’s a ridiculous notion, but that doesn’t stop it from feeling any less true to Oikawa. He can’t help it, he lets out a broken sob because how can this feel so amazing if it doesn’t actually mean anything? How can he and Iwaizumi _not_ be perfect for each other? How can they not be the real thing, not be destined to be together, when it feels like _this_?

“Please,” he gasps out, sticky with want and all the things he will never dare say. Thankfully Iwaizumi just lets out a shaky exhale near Oikawa’s ear and nods wordlessly. He begins to move, thrusts slow and deep. There’s no hope of deviating Iwaizumi from his pace now, and Oikawa thinks he must be a masochist because he doesn’t want it any other way anymore. This is what he’s always craved - slow, purposeful, full of meaning. It almost feels like _making love_ or whatever the cliche is, and though that could never be true Oikawa wants to do the damaging thing and pretend it is so, if only for tonight.

“You’re perfect, you’re so precious,” Iwaizumi is whispering things in his ear again, but even if Oikawa could do anything more than register the mere fact the other is speaking (and that’s about all he’s capable of right now), he still wouldn’t be able to understand the English, foreign and incomprehensible to him as always.

Iwaizumi keeps his pace, and he holds onto Oikawa and Oikawa holds onto him until they both come, overwhelmed by the steady, gradual pull to release when they’re so used to the quick crash of something more physically intense but less emotionally-charged.

Oikawa is spent. It takes every ounce of his remaining strength to heave himself onto his side when Iwaizumi climbs off him to get rid of the used condom and find something to clean them off with. And because he’s a coward, when Iwaizumi returns he doesn’t move or open his eyes, feigning sleep. He can’t face the reality of what they are so soon after that. He’s too raw, if not completely flayed open. The moment Iwaizumi opens his mouth to set the record straight, he’s going to see everything Oikawa has hidden away to fester beneath the surface if he isn’t given the opportunity to gather himself together. He doesn’t want to make Iwaizumi feel guilty, because he _isn’t_ guilty. They never promised each other anything. It was supposed to be no-strings. It was supposed to be fun.

So Oikawa just keeps his eyes shut, and doesn’t have to put much effort into remaining limp even when Iwaizumi thoroughly but carefully wipes him down, because he just feels so drained. Iwaizumi leaves the room again, and returns a couple of minutes later. There’s a pause after the other closes the bedroom door behind him, and Oikawa in his haze thinks he can feel a stare on his back before Iwaizumi breaks into motion again, climbing onto the bed and laying down right behind him.

Oikawa falls asleep with an arm around his waist and soft lips at the back of his neck - but then again, it’s such a recurring fantasy that he can’t be sure he isn’t already asleep and dreaming.

 

~~~~~~~~

 

He wakes up the next morning to an empty bed and the sounds of movement in his kitchen.

Awareness comes back to him slowly at first and then all at once: coming to terms with the fact he’s more emotionally invested than he should be; the fact that it could never really work out with Iwaizumi living so far away anyway; how much fun he’d had the night before and how well it had gone. The other man’s persistent and thorough treatment of him the night before; the torturous, achingly slow and absolutely amazing sex that Oikawa had decided would act as the finale to everything. Oikawa spends more time than he’d like to admit staring up at his bedroom ceiling, avoiding the conversation he knows he and Iwa-chan need to have today and yet acknowledging it’s the only way to proceed. They can’t keep going like this.

Eventually he steps out of his bedroom in boxer briefs and a t-shirt, walking into his kitchen to see that Iwa-chan has made himself right at home, standing in front of Oikawa’s rice cooker in nothing but his underwear, scooping out servings into two bowls. “Mornin’,” he offers once he’s done, voice clear of sleepiness but expression still soft and relaxed as he sends a smile in Oikawa’s direction, placing the bowls onto the table. “You really need to keep on top of groceries, Oikawa. I checked through your fridge and cupboards and literally all there is is rice, eggs, and a bunch of condiments that are completely useless because you have _no real food in here_.”

Finally unfreezing in the doorway, Oikawa waves him off and moves to sit at his tiny kitchen table as Iwaizumi does the same. “I’ve been busy lately, Iwa-chan,” he says, pulling one serving of steaming rice closer to him and grabbing one of the eggs Iwaizumi had placed in a dish in the middle of the table. Tamago kake gohan isn’t his favourite breakfast meal - it's a meal for kids and broke college students mostly - but if his food stock really is as low as Iwaizumi is claiming then it’s the only viable option. “And don’t mother me so early in the morning, you’ll ruin my mood~”

Iwaizumi snorts but doesn’t deign to reply, and instead they both crack their eggs over the rice, dumping the shells back in the spare dish and waiting a few moments for the egg to begin to cook. Oikawa feels a gaze on him and flickers his eyes up to see Iwaizumi calmly regarding him from across the table.

“Last night was good,” the man says, almost careful in tone, head cocking just slightly to the side. Oikawa isn’t sure if he’s referring to hanging out with Matsukawa and Hanamaki or the torturously slow sex they’d had after getting home. Probably both, but that turns out to be beside the point. Thinking about Iwaizumi’s insistence - _my pace, Tooru_ \- and the toe-curling pleasure he’d given him whilst the man looks at him, waiting for his response, Oikawa can’t help but blush. He turns his attention to the bowl in front of him, mixing his egg yolk into the rice with determination, letting out a breath when the action spurs Iwaizumi to do the same, temporarily distracting him.

Suddenly the air feels heavy with anticipation, and not the good kind that Oikawa is usually subjected to in Iwaizumi’s presence. They eat half of their breakfast with only the clacking of chopsticks breaking the silence, the atmosphere almost oppressive to Oikawa. There’s an elephant in the room, and his kitchen is _tiny._

Evidently, Iwaizumi can’t take it any more because he sets his chopsticks down with a determined-sounding click. Oikawa takes a breath and, having expected this, calmly places his over the top of his bowl and raises his gaze to the other once again.

And because Iwaizumi is a blunt person, he wastes no words:

“Are you still seeing other people?”

Apparently all the mental prep he’d done that morning hadn’t been enough, because the question makes Tooru freeze in terror for a few tortuously-long seconds. He could lie, but he’s actually a terrible liar when it comes down to it. There’s a voice in his ear that sounds specifically like Makki which says _tell him yes and then break it off with him_ and then another that has to be Mattsun that calmly says _tell him the truth_.

The silence after Iwaizumi’s question stretches longer and longer, Oikawa’s body not cooperating with him immediately when Iwaizumi’s eyes are pinning him down like _that_ , but eventually he forces himself to say the word:

“No.”

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows raise, his lips move as if to say something, but Oikawa just takes another breath as his presses his palms flat to the plastic tabletop, long fingers spreading wide as he steels himself. Iwaizumi has ripped off the bandaid and yeah-- Oikawa needs to say this. There's never going to be a better opportunity than this to get it out - finally admitting it means he might not get another chance to have a discussion with Iwaizumi. The words come easy. “I was at first, and it was fine. I always thought ‘man this was more fun with Iwa-chan’ but I never thought anything more than that, y'know? I like sex, I like feeling good and it’s never been that hard to find someone--” Wait, he’s going a bit off-track, right? But he can’t help it, because his heart’s beating fast and his breaths are coming too quick. The words tumble from his lips like they've been imprisoned for years and they have a glimpse at liberation. “And it’s just a casual thing right? It’s not like anything was going to happen with us, so sleeping with other people was the natural thing to do. You wouldn’t be here enough for me to get attached to you, so I could carry on as normal. It would be fine to meet up every so often, and even if I did feel something, well-- it’s just not possible to have a real relationship with someone who doesn’t even live in the same country as you, right?”

Iwaizumi looks concerned, and it bleeds into his voice. “Oikawa--”

Tooru shakes his head ‘no’, and pulls his hand away when Iwaizumi tries to take it in his own. He can’t stop now. He hasn’t been able to talk about this with anyone, not really, and Iwa-chan is the only one he’s wanted to talk to about his problems lately, anyway. He needs to get this out.

“Except after a while I found out that it wasn’t just me picking bad lays like I first thought, it was that no one else could make me feel as good Iwa-chan does. Not just during sex but other times too, on dates or taxi rides to a hotel or - _anywhere_. And even getting texts from random people just got tedious because it wasn’t a text from Iwa-chan, because Iwa-chan isn’t going to reply to my texts for hours because he lives halfway across the world in a completely different timezone. And I was aware of all this, obviously, but I didn’t really notice I had stopped seeing other people until months later because I didn’t miss sex, I missed _sex with Iwa-chan_ , and everything else about Iwa-chan, too. So what I’m saying is, it hasn’t been just a casual thing to me for a while and I should have said something earlier but in my defense I didn’t really think about it, it was only when I thought about _Iwa-chan_ with other people that I realised how bad this is, and that’s not your fault but I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do this anymore afterall, so--”

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi cuts in, and Oikawa takes a gasping breath because he’s whipped himself into a frenzy with his rambling confession. He dares to look at Hajime and the other man’s gaze has not wavered. Oikawa presses his lips together and tries to suppress the miserable tremble threatening to take over his body. His eyes feel hot. He's never been good at masking strong emotions when he feels them, or keeping himself from hysteria.

“Oikawa.” It’s even firmer this time, and it does the job of reigning Tooru’s attention in once more. Iwa-chan can make him snap into focus so easily and that says more than anything else, probably. “Ask me what I did yesterday.”

Oikawa _knows_ what the other did yesterday, but Iwa-chan sounds so _sure_ , like he means something by the question. Iwaizumi’s gaze is steady and calm, a consistent thread that keeps him and Oikawa connected in this moment. The familiarity of those flint eyes forces Oikawa’s subconscious to remember the trust he has in the other man so he does as he’s told, feeling utterly betrayed and how weak and wreck his voice sounds when he asks: “what did you do yesterday, Iwa-chan?”

“Well, I had a final-stage job interview for a transfer to the Tokyo office that’s been in negotiation for the past three months. I think it went pretty well.” There’s a quick pause, and after Oikawa processes that information he begins to feel a little light-headed. “Then this amazing guy I’m really into invited me out for drinks and I finally got to meet his best friends. Nice people, managed to resist threatening me while he was in the bathroom but I could tell they really wanted to.” Oikawa makes a choked sound, and it’s a mystery even to him whether it was meant to be a laugh or a sob. “And then he took me back to his apartment for the first time. He seemed really on edge but he was trying to hide it, just like the last couple of times I’d seen him, so I thought maybe, if I was lucky, he was thinking the same things as me.”

Iwaizumi smiles then, and Oikawa’s heart soars.

“He didn’t want to talk about it, though. I hate seeing him genuinely bothered about things, so I decided I’d make him feel good. Partly because I have an ego and I like to think no one can do that as good as me-” He stops to chuckle, and Oikawa realises with great embarrassment that it’s because he’d been nodding eagerly in agreement to that last statement. This time, when Iwaizumi reaches over to take his hand, Oikawa doesn’t pull away, hope blooming in his chest. “But mostly because I really care about him and I feel like it's my responsibility to take care of him.”

“Tooru, last night wasn’t just sex. It was like-- uh, _making love_.” He says the last part in English, nose scrunching up in awkwardness and embarrassment, and thankfully, Oikawa's watched enough western romcoms to understand what he said completely. He squeezes Iwa-chan’s hand, marveling at how red the other is going; how utterly perfect he looks sitting in Oikawa’s kitchen in nothing but his underwear, tan skin warmed by the morning sunlight coming through the window, looking flustered and _at home_.

“And for the record, I’m not seeing anyone else, either. For basically the same reasons as you. You’re the most ridiculous man I’ve ever met, but you’re also the most unfairly beautiful and endearing person I’ve ever seen. I want to be serious about you. ...No - I _am_ serious about you. You’ve been skittish for a while, so I thought I’d make the first move.”

Oikawa wants to cry, maybe, but he’s laughing instead, the hysterical, happy sounds bubbling out of his throat even before he’s able to push himself up into a stand and round his shitty Ikea table to climb into Iwaizumi’s lap instead. This isn’t a dream, this is _real_ , and he needs to be as close to Iwaizumi as he can possibly get.

It’s a bit of a scramble at first with his movement being so spontaneous - Iwaizumi has to support his weight for a second while he finds his position, comfortably seated on strong things with his own long legs akimbo on either side, toes brushing the lino floor. He takes Iwa-chan’s face in his hands, big brown eyes boring into the other’s. “You’re moving to Japan for me?” he asks, breathless and terrified.

Iwaizumi snorts.

“Don’t be stupid. It’s a promotion.”

Oikawa can’t help it - he tilts his head back and laughs, happy and excited and delightfully surprised.

“At first it was almost all about you," Iwaizumi admits, almost cringeing at himself. "Then I realized that doing something like this for someone else was fucking stupid, and decided that living here was something I would do for myself, regardless of whether you wanted to make a real go of this thing or not. I've always liked coming here. I thought if I got approved it'd be nice to try out life in the motherland, even if only for a while...”

Iwa-chan is trying to take the pressure off of this, to say it’s okay if it doesn’t work out before it’s even just begun. He’s so heartbreakingly thoughtful and kind and privately, Oikawa thinks he’s completely unworthy of Iwaizumi’s affections. Still with his hands on Iwaizumi’s cheeks, he leans forward to press their foreheads together. For some reason, he’s not worried about whether they’ll last or not. He has a really good feeling about this - but even if it doesn’t, Oikawa isn’t scared. Iwa-chan would never hurt him on purpose, would never take advantage of Oikawa’s feelings for him. That, he knows for sure.

“‘Only for a while’?” he asks, incredulous. “I thought you were _serious_ about me?!”

The skin under Oikawa’s fingers goes red all over again, the heat warming his fingertips and his heart. Iwaizumi huffs, and pulls back just the slightest bit so he can look at Oikawa properly.

“Yeah well, you haven’t actually confirmed anything for me, so if you want, you can do that now.”

Oikawa stares.

He’s sitting in Iwaizumi’s lap, with the man’s face in his hands, visibly delighted.

“Iwa-chan, are you dumb?” he asks, and it’s comical to watch the way the familiar grumpy frown washes over the other’s face so quickly. “You’re the loveliest human I’ve ever met, and I have two of the most amazing best friends ever so that’s quite impressive. You send me pictures of dogs you meet and pet in the street, you look at me like I’m the only person in the room, and you say nice things about me in English when we have sex.” Iwaizumi blanches, as if he had no idea he even did that, and Oikawa chuckles at him for a second before continuing. “Even when you make fun of me, I’m just so happy because I know it’s not mean-spirited and you just love to tease me. And even though you’re definitely the Reacher in this relationship, I’m happy to be the Settler because I think you’re amazing and I’m just completely gone for you. I really like you, and I’m serious about you, too.”

“You just managed to insult me even while confessing to me. Amazing.”

Oikawa lifts his nose into the air imperiously, dropping his hands and instead wrapping his arms around Iwaizumi’s shoulders.

“You should be honored that I confessed to you at all,” he says snootily, sinking in the other’s warm embrace now that he doesn’t need to second guess every gesture, every touch. It feels amazing.

“I am.”

"Good," Oikawa sighs, smiling sweetly despite how pompous he'd just been. He moves his feet back so he can hook them around Iwaizumi's shins, pressing his cheek to the man's broad shoulder. "Iwa-chan," he says after countless minutes have passed in contented silence, lips quirking when the other sends back an exasperated 'what' in response. "Now that we've admitted we like each other, can I come see you off and pick you up from the airport?"

Iwaizumi cranes his neck to look at Oikawa in puzzlement. He must see something in Tooru's eyes because instead of scolding him like he'd been about to, he sighs and pats his thigh. "Well, with me moving here soon it won't be happening that often. But if you don't have work I don't see why not?"

Oikawa feels so happy he could die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want to thank everyone who read this fic, dropped a kudos, added a bookmark, subscribed and waited (im)patiently for it to be finally completed. this work is my baby and v personal to me in a number of ways and it means so much to put it out into the world and have people engage with it. iwaoi will always be my number one love and i hope to have my other works finished soon :)
> 
> heckle + throw trash at me on [tumblr](http://ikiteiruka.tumblr.com/)


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